Feb 23, 2016
An opinion piece by Nikhil Narayan, ICJ’ South Asia Senior Legal Adviser.
“The regime has changed, but the system remains the same; how can we expect justice from them?,” asked a Tamil nun who survived the brutal conflict between the Sri Lankan Government and the Tamil Tigers in Vavuniya district in Sri Lanka’s Northern Province.
Her sentiments echo a growing sense of skepticism shared by many in the country’s north and east in the willingness and ability of the Sri Lankan State to deliver justice and accountability for victims of the conflict and their families.
Interviews with local lawyers, activists, victims and victims’ families during my recent visit to the north and east reinforced the importance of ensuring a credible transitional justice process that will provide a genuine remedy to victims and survivors, and in so doing restore public confidence in the State.
Achieving this credibility requires, among other things, the participation of a majority of foreign judges, prosecutors, lawyers and investigators in any proposed special tribunal created to address alleged war crimes, crimes against humanity and other serious human rights violations committed by all sides during the conflict.
Since the new government came to power a little over a year ago, Sri Lanka has taken some important and welcome steps towards national reconciliation.
Particularly, victims’ hopes for justice were bolstered by the government’s apparent acceptance of the September 2015 report of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights documenting alleged serious human rights violations and abuses committed by all sides to the conflict.
The Sri Lankan government even co-sponsored the subsequent Human Rights Council resolution, which affirmed the importance of the participation of foreign judges, prosecutors, lawyers and investigators to ensure the credibility of a “judicial mechanism” as part of the justice and accountability process.
But the government has yet to demonstrate any concrete initiatives towards fulfilling this promise of accountability.
Recent statements emanating from various quarters of the government have fed mistrust among victims in the war-affected north and east.
President Sirisena’s January 2016 BBC interview, in which he emphatically rejected the possibility of foreign participation in a proposed accountability mechanism, alarmed many.
Equally troubling were his comments expressing full confidence in the existing justice system and questioning the UN report’s allegations of war crimes committed by the Sri Lankan Army.
Prime Minister Wickremesinghe’s statements only a few days later during his visit to Jaffna to mark Thai Pongal, that the majority of missing persons should be considered deceased, also did not go unnoticed.
Families of the disappeared have the right to know, to the extent possible, the whereabouts of their family members.
The PM’s message suggesting knowledge and admission of their fate, but without further details, left families wanting; I was told more than once that the PM’s statement on the missing was “hurtful” to the families of the disappeared.
Lawyers, activists and medical officers dealing with ongoing human rights cases complained that it is common for such cases to drag on for as much as 10 years due to delays in the police investigative stage, as well as further delays in prosecuting the case by the Attorney General’s department if and when the investigation is concluded.
When asked whether these delays were due to lack of political will or capacity, I consistently received some form of non-verbal response amounting to: “Take your pick.”
Police also remain inadequately trained in investigative methodology, continuing to rely almost exclusively on confessions, often elicited by torture or other forms of coercion.
Under the current government, the climate of fear in the north and east has no doubt markedly improved; under the prior regime, for instance, I myself would not have been able to visit, move around and conduct interviews as freely as I did.
At the same time, surveillance, threats and intimidation have not ended completely.
Victims and lawyers in cases involving the armed forces as alleged perpetrators still face intimidation and obstruction of investigations.
Sri Lanka has had a long and well-documented history of creating domestic commissions of inquiry into serious human rights violations during the conflict, none of which has been successful in adequately addressing issues of impunity, justice or truth-seeking.
The ICJ has for the past thirty years documented the gradual erosion of judicial independence under successive governments, and the resulting culture of impunity in the justice system.
In its 2010 report, for example, the ICJ highlighted the failure of the criminal justice system, as well as the many commissions that have been established, to satisfy the State’s obligations to its citizens due to an absence of State accountability, limitations in the investigative and prosecutorial system and limitations in the law.
While the new government has taken some steps to address this, most notably with the restoration of the Constitutional Council, much more work remains to be done.
In such a context, the existing justice system is poorly equipped to handle cases of gross human rights violations and violations of international humanitarian law, including alleged war crimes and crimes against humanity, that will require not only highly technical forensic evidentiary and investigative expertise, but will also involve specific prosecutorial and judicial capacity to deal with issues of modes of liability such as command responsibility for superior officers.
The nun in Vavuniya told me: “We want them to accept responsibility, tell us the truth, and then we can have reconciliation; it is not about revenge.”
The call by domestic and international human rights activists and observers for an accountability process that involves, as a minimum prerequisite, the meaningful participation of a majority of foreign judges and other personnel is very simply a matter of restoring public trust in the rule of law in the country, through a credible, impartial, independent, victim-centric transitional justice process that effectively addresses victims’ right to truth, justice, remedy and reparation, and on whose foundation the country can move forward with genuine reconciliation.
The GOSL can take a significant step towards bridging this trust gap in the immediate term by reaffirming in no uncertain terms its commitment to the promises to which it voluntarily agreed in Geneva last year, including its recognition: that “accountability is essential to uphold the rule of law and to build confidence in the people of all communities of Sri Lanka in the justice system[;]” that “a credible justice process should include independent judicial and prosecutorial institutions led by individuals known for their integrity and impartiality;” and, of “the importance of participation in a Sri Lankan judicial mechanism, including the special counsel’s office, of Commonwealth and other foreign judges, defence lawyers and authorized prosecutors and investigators”.
Feb 11, 2016
An opinion piece by Daniel Aguirre, ICJ International Legal Adviser in Myanmar.
Disputes over land ownership and use are a major source of social and economic tension in Myanmar as it grapples with political transition and economic development.
Irresponsible investment against the interests and wishes of communities which results in the widespread violation of land-related human rights has been allowed for too long.
The new National Land Use Policy (NLUP), released in the final days of the outgoing parliament in late January, is a welcome step towards improving the governance of land tenure.
The NLUP could not come sooner. An influx of investment has increased demand for land. Poor regulation and lax implementation mean that investors continue to be granted land obtained illegally or under dubious circumstances.
Many communities have suddenly found themselves trespassing on land on which they have lived for generations. They are routinely charged with trespassing while their environment and livelihoods are degraded.
Experience from around the world has shown than human rights principles should frame land law advocacy.
In a positive step, the NLUP uses rights-based language in its basic principles.
It refers directly to human rights standards in chapters related to land acquisition, the land use rights of ethnic minorities and is framed with explicit reference to the equality of men and women.
On its own, though, the policy is not enough.
Myanmar’s land laws do not adequately protect these rights. Laws enacted in 2012, such as the Foreign Investment Law, the Vacant, Fallow and Virgin Land Law and the Farmland Law, were designed to increase investment, encourage large-scale land use and promote agricultural income.
Under this system fewer than half the population have land title.
The rest are vulnerable to land grabs and forced evictions, which result in further human rights abuses as people are dispossessed of their means of livelihood and habitat.
Myanmar’s problematic practice of land acquisition relies primarily on the colonial era 1894 Land Acquisition Act.
Although it stipulates procedures for preliminary investigations, notification, and objections – which would help mitigate land-related human rights abuses – in practice they have rarely been followed.
Inadequate compensation is a common complaint as people rarely get market value for their land.
At the same time, the courts have proved reluctant to address politically and economically sensitive cases.
The NLUP recognizes many of these grievances. It consistently refers to a need for participatory, transparent and accountable processes and seeks the recognition of customary land tenure and dispute resolution.
To protect existing land users, the policy pledges to develop new procedures and ensure environmental and social impact assessments are completed before land is reallocated.
When the relocation of communities is claimed to be necessary for an overriding public purpose, the NLUP calls for public consultation, negotiation and participatory decision-making, with preference given to local stakeholders.
It promises to avoid the loss of land use along with the protection of the environment.
In managing the relocation, compensation, rehabilitation and restitution from land acquisition and allocation, unfair land confiscation or displacement, the NLUP commits the government to using clear international human rights standards in consultation with civil society.
Much depends on the composition and decisions taken by the various councils and committees mandated by NLUP.
It is unclear how these new bodies will interact with the various committees governing Myanmar’s myriad land-related laws, especially as the policy does not create dispute resolution mechanisms or provide for legal accountability.
It also remains unclear whether the incoming National League for Democracy government will endorse the policy.
To disregard such an important step would set the process back by years.
The next government should endorse the NLUP as a mechanism that can be built on and improved over time, as opposed to starting from scratch.
From there, it is vital that the new government drafts a new law in conjunction with civil society.
If anything is learned from the NLUP it should be that civil society participation is essential to the law reform process.
Only then can the government dispel concerns that the NLUP is window dressing for a law promoting investor interests negotiated behind closed doors.
The NLUP’s references to responsible investment, human rights and the protection of the environment are a sound basis for land law reform.
The protection of human rights, including land rights, in national law through national courts will improve the rule of law and thereby foster a climate in which sustainable, rights-based development is more likely to occur.
The new NLD-led national parliament should move quickly to draft and adopt a new law governing tenure and land use in line with international human rights standards, to ensure that increasing economic investment and development do not lead to more land grabs and forced evictions.
In the scramble for profits, respect for human rights is non-negotiable.
Jan 11, 2016
An opinion piece by Reema Omer, Legal Adviser for Pakistan, ICJ Asia Pacific Programme.
In a complex and diverse world, recourse to stereotypes and generalizations is perhaps an inevitable facet of human behavior.
Stereotypes and resulting inferences manifest on a day-to-day basis in a range of social contexts and human interactions and need not always be prejudicial.
However, where laws, policies, and judicial pronouncements embody and perpetuate these stereotypes, they give rise to discrimination and undermine equal enjoyment of human rights.
Rape and other sexual violence are human rights abuses. Under international law, States have an obligation to protect women against such abuse, including by providing for effective redress and holding perpetrators criminally accountable.
In Pakistan, one of the major obstacles to discharging this obligation is the State’s failure to address harmful stereotypes about rape.
Despite some notable law reform in recent years, a range of stereotypes regarding male and female sexuality and the respective roles of men and women in society continue to influence impartial reporting, investigation, prosecution and adjudication of cases of sexual violence, hampering access to justice for rape and other forms of sexual violence.
Rape as a crime against “honour”
In Pakistan, as well as most of South Asia, rape (and other sexual violence) is generally understood as a violation of honour.
This understanding also manifests itself in how rape is defined.
In the Urdu language, for example, rape is commonly referred to as “ziyadati”, which can be defined as “being wronged”.
Other words frequently used for rape include “asmat dairi” and “izzat lutna”, both defining rape as deprivation of honour.
These terms and the underlining assumptions reflect an approach to sexual violence that is not concerned with the infringement of a woman’s physical or mental integrity or autonomy, but instead with what is perceived as an assault on honour – the honour of the woman, her family, and her community.
Instead of promoting concern for the dignity, health, and emotional and physical wellbeing of the woman, they reflect the belief that a woman’s involvement in sex outside of marriage – with or without her consent – has “shamed” her.
That rape “dishonours” the victim is a recurring theme in public discourse on rape, and disturbingly, this framing is also perpetuated by judges in their judgments.
In one case, for example, the Lahore High Court (LHC) held that the father of a victim of rape and murder had to “swallow the humiliation resulting from the publicity of his daughter’s rape”, and in another, the LHC refused to believe that a “virgin educated girl would put her honour and dignity as well as that of her family at stake” by fabricating a rape allegation.
While the rape victim is thought to be “dishonoured” by acts of sexual violence, the perpetrator of rape is painted as a lustful predator who commits a crime of passion, not of violence.
Decades of research have shown that the expression of power and dominance, not the act of sexual intercourse itself, is the dominant driver behind rape.
Despite these findings, there is still a tendency to attribute sexual urge and lust as the primary causes for rape: “ravish” is used synonymously with rape in many legal provisions, and in their judgments, judges continue to describe “animal lust” as the impetus for rape which leads to the “defloration” of victims.
Rape and “morality”
The characterization of rape as a crime of “lust and passion” which “dishonours” the woman presupposes an archetype rape victim –a young, “chaste” and “moral” “virgin”.
Where victims and survivors of sexual violence do not meet this archetype, rape allegations made by them are often dismissed and they are stigmatized, or even prosecuted, for their perceived immorality.
Following a recent alleged gang rape reported in Lahore, for example, media reporting of the case was rife with such stereotypes.
A leading English newsweekly published a story in the gossip section of the paper suggesting that the complainant and one of the alleged rapists were involved in a “tryst” in the hotel room where the alleged rape took place, going on to dismiss the gang-rape allegation.
The reporting on television was even more telling.
Messages exchanged between the complainant and one of the alleged rapists were splashed across television screens, and their prior relationship was considered proof that the gang-rape allegation was fabricated.
Such stereotyping also shapes the investigation of sexual violence and often, also judicial decision-making.
Courts are more inclined to believe the testimony of complainants where they meet the “young, chaste and virgin” archetype, and either dismiss the complaints or require further corroboration where the rape victims or survivors are older, or are perceived to be – as described by various courts – of “easy virtue” and of “loose character”.
In one judgment, the Sindh High Court observed that the fact that “the woman was used to sexual intercourse would lend support to the version that the alleged intercourse may not have been performed against her wishes”.
This can be contrasted with the Peshawar High Court’s more sympathetic view where the complainant was “a school going virgin/tender age girl”, who “could not be believed to put her career, personal respect and family honour at stake by fabricating a false allegation of such nature in the absence of any motive.”
This stereotype of the ideal rape victim is not a judicial creation but is the law of the land.
Section 151(4) of the Qanun-e-Shahadat Order, 1984, states that the credibility of a witness may be impeached where “a man is prosecuted for rape or an attempt to ravish” and it is “shown that the prosecutrix was of generally immoral character”.
The “two-finger test”, which involves assessing how many fingers can easily be inserted into the victim’s vagina to determine her sexual history, is still frequently used as evidence in rape cases.
Not only is the “two-finger test without scientific or medical value, but sexual history is irrelevant as to whether a rape has occurred.
The Constitution of Pakistan expressly provides that “there shall be no discrimination on the basis of sex”.
The UN Convention on the Elimination of All forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW), which Pakistan acceded to in 1996, reinforces the principle of equality and obligates States to eliminate wrongful gender stereotyping.
Yet, Pakistan continues to be ranked as amongst the most dangerous countries in the world for women; has an abysmally low rate of convictions of less than five per cent for people prosecuted for rape; and the prejudicial stereotypes associated with rape continue to doubly persecute victims and survivors of sexual violence.
Making Pakistan a safer place for women will require a combination of measures by various institutions of the State, including law reform; introducing gender-sensitivity trainings for judges, prosecutors and law enforcements officials; and launching information campaigns regarding women’s rights for the general public.
These measures will have to specifically target the stereotypes associated with sexual violence, moving away from understanding rape as a crime of lust that “dishonours” women to what it really is – a violent assault against the physical and mental integrity and autonomy of the victim.
Dec 10, 2015
An opinion piece by Vani Sathisan, International Legal Adviser for the ICJ in Myanmar.
The world observes Human Rights Day on 10 December to mark the momentous strides in international human rights law since the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) in 1948. In Myanmar, recent political changes have been both momentous and transformative.
Nonetheless, what was proclaimed by the UDHR as the “equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family”, continue to be infringed upon by the arbitrary and highly subjective interpretation and application of laws, some of them dating back to British colonial times.
Successive governments in Myanmar have used overly broad or vaguely defined laws to curtail freedom of expression that is protected under international law.
They often invoke the justification, typically inappropriately, of protecting national security, or to prevent public disorder or avoid outraging the religious feelings of a class.
None of these efforts have served or can serve to address or respond to sectarian and religious violence.
On behalf of the ICJ, I have observed trials of those arrested and detained on criminal defamation charges for their Facebook posts that allegedly defame either the Tatmadaw or a political leader.
One of the laws used to charge the accused is the Penal Code, first drafted in 1860.
The ICJ released a briefing paper last month highlighting how the enforcement of Myanmar’s defamation laws can result in violations of a number of international laws and standards protecting human rights, and also have an overall chilling effect on the freedom of opinion and expression and freedom of assembly in the country.
Various provisions of the Penal Code have been used in the past to criminalize free expression and peaceful demonstrations and imprison activists and hundreds of political dissidents, such as popular political satirist Zarganar.
Just last week, authorities arrested and charged five men under Section 505b of the Penal Code with “causing fear or alarm to the public” after they published a calendar referring to Myanmar’s persecuted Muslim Rohingya as an official ethnic minority.
The Myanmar government refuses to recognize the Rohingya as citizens, claiming that they are “illegal” migrants from neighbouring Bangladesh. The accused have been reportedly re-arrested despite pleading guilty to publishing materials that could “damage national security” and paying a fine of one million kyat.
Others in Myanmar face criminal sanctions simply because their acts of expression were perceived to be at odds with particular interpretations of Buddhism, Myanmar’s majority religion.
Section 295a, enacted by colonial authorities in 1927 to curb communal tension, states that, “deliberate and malicious intention of outraging the religious feelings of any class by insulting its religion or religious beliefs” shall be punished with imprisonment, or with fine, or with both.
In Myanmar, courts have convicted individuals in the absence of evidence of any deliberate and malicious intent to insult a religion.
In late 2008, several activists, including monks and nuns, were imprisoned with hard labour on 295a charges.
Earlier this year, Htin Linn Oo, a writer and National League for Democracy information officer, was sentenced to two years imprisonment with hard labour under 295a for publicly questioning the Buddhist credentials of those using Buddhism to incite violence.
A Buddhist himself, he earned the wrath of nationalist monks who demanded a tougher punishment outside the District Court, which rejected his appeal, reportedly stating it “should not interfere” with the lower court’s decision.
Interestingly, the translated version of a court order in another 295a case in Myanmar shows no regard whatsoever to any evidence of a “deliberate and malicious intent to insult a religion” as required under the charge.
It may be that the defendant had caused offence to some within the Buddhist community. But did he commit a crime punishable under Section 295a?
The UN Human Rights Committee established by the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR)—a treaty which carries many of the principles of the UDHR into international law—emphasizes that “Prohibitions of displays of lack of respect for a religion or other belief system, including blasphemy laws, are incompatible with the Covenant”.
The only limited exception under the Covenant would be for proportionate and non-discriminatory measures to prohibit “advocacy of…religious hatred that constitutes incitement to discrimination, hostility or violence”.
Section 295A falls far short of this threshold. (The ICCPR has 168 state parties, but Myanmar is not one of them, despite its pledge to consider international recommendations during the UN Universal Periodic Review to become one.)
The Rabat Plan of Action, an outcome of a four-year initiative by the UN Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, has underscored that States should ensure that the three part test for restrictions of freedom of expression—legality, proportionality and necessity—also applies to cases of incitement to hatred.
Article 20 of the ICCPR requires this high threshold because limitation of speech must remain an exception and must be “provided by law, be clearly and narrowly defined to serve a legitimate interest, and be necessary in a democratic society to protect that interest.”
The ICJ has observed and documented the pre-trial and trial phases of some of these cases and has concluded that they violate international standards of fair trial.
Hearings sometimes last less than five minutes and bail has been denied repeatedly to an accused suffering from poor health.
These are indicative of the struggles of Myanmar’s judiciary in adjudicating politically sensitive cases with impartiality and competence.
These prosecutions undermine the rule of law in Myanmar and shed light on how Myanmar laws are inconsistent with human rights, including freedom of opinion and expression, freedom of thought, conscience, and religion, and the right to equality before the law without discrimination.
Prosecutors must act in the interests of justice, drop charges inconsistent with human rights and not push for cases without sufficient evidence to back the charges.
The government and the parliament also play critical roles in drafting, amending and repealing laws to anticipate and account for the possibility of aggravated discrimination, and to prevent the entrenchment of institutionalized social intolerance.
Former UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Navi Pillay has described the freedom of expression as “among the most precious and fundamental of our rights as human beings.”
That means respecting the rights of others to their opinions.
Myanmar must cultivate respect for the rule of law.
Those arbitrarily and unfairly languishing behind bars deserve justice.
Calling for their release is a duty for all those who believe in the right to freedom of opinion and expression.
Oct 23, 2015
An opinion piece by Vani Sathisan, ICJ International Legal Adviser in Myanmar.
To say that Facebook and other internet-based social media networks have revolutionized modern day communication would be an understatement.
According to a report by the Human Rights Council’s Special Rapporteur on the promotion and protection of the right to freedom of opinion and expression, the global number of internet users has reached more than two billion.
One million log onto Facebook every month. Twitter claims 500 million users and YouTube is viewed about 4 million times per day.
After ideas expressed online have had an instant “viral” spread, revolutions have unfolded .
And so have the prosecutions.
Judiciaries worldwide have had to struggle with what content is defamatory and what is self-expression.
The US Supreme Court, in Elonis v. United States [2015], considered the case of a defendant who had written, and posted on Facebook, apparently violent rap lyrics, including “I want to kill my wife” while he was undergoing a divorce.
The court had to weigh up whether convicting a man of threatening another person requires proof of subjective intent to threaten or whether it would suffice to show that a “reasonable person” would regard the statement as threatening.
It ruled in favour of the defendant stating that “negligence is not sufficient to support a conviction.” The defendant’s lawyer argued that his client was exercising his First Amendment rights and that governments may not prohibit the expression of an idea simply because certain factions of society find it offensive.
Although freedom of expression is universal and widely accepted in practice, it is not an absolute right and governments may, narrowly and exceptionally impose certain limitations attached to it.
Article 20 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) bears testament to this by stating that “any advocacy of national, racial or religious hatred that constitutes incitement to discrimination, hostility or violence shall be prohibited by law.”
This is a lot more specific than discriminatory expressions in general and the incitement to “discrimination, hostility or violence” by hate speech is significant for upholding the high threshold it requires.
The International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination, however, goes further and obligates signatories to make “all dissemination of ideas based on racial superiority or hatred” a punishable offense (Article 4(a)).
Myanmar too is struggling with the question of expression that is defamatory, especially in the lead up to its much-anticipated elections. Despite the exponential boom in mobile phone users since SIM cards dropped from $2,000 to $1.50, telecommunications in Myanmar lag behind most developed countries, including its Southeast Asian neighbors.
This has not stopped criminal defamation lawsuits from being filed under the country’s various vague laws on distributing information by electronic technology.
In just under a month, at least two people have been detained without bail under 34(d) of Myanmar’s Electronic Transactions Law and 66(d) of the Telecommunications Law for posting or sharing a post on Facebook, based on complaints lodged by army officials claiming the Myanmar army had been defamed.
If convicted, the accused would be liable for imprisonment of up to five years or a fine or both or imprisonment not exceeding three years or a fine or both, respectively.
The Myanmar’s Electronic Transactions Law is holdover legislation from the former junta, dating back to 2004, signed by General Than Shwe, former junta leader and Chairman of the State Peace and Development Council.
The Deputy Minister for Communications and Information Technology had pledged to repeal parts of the law in 2013, which has been used in the past to imprison activists and political dissidents. That has not happened.
When the run up to the country’s elections has been fraught with severe problems – including inadequate election campaign voter lists, a lack of an independent judiciary and unelected military representatives taking up 25 per cent of the seats in the parliament to preserve a “disciplined democracy”– is it too much to ask prosecutors to exercise their discretion in desisting from moving forward with cases based on weightless Facebook discourse?
Both in terms of justice and effectiveness in law enforcement and fundamental interests of the society, such decisions have far-reaching implications.
Criminal defamation laws that silence free speech online are also incompatible with the right to freedom of opinion and expression and non-compliant with international laws and standards.
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the International Covenant of Civil and Political Rights guarantees under Article 19 the right to freedom of expression, which includes the right to impart information.
The UN Human Rights Committee, in expressing its concern at the misuse of defamation laws to criminalize freedom of expression, has clarified that imprisonment is never an appropriate penalty for defamation.
In its General Comment on the issue, the Committee states that, “in circumstances of public debate concerning public figures in the political domain and public institutions, the value placed by the Covenant upon uninhibited expression is particularly high.
Thus the mere fact that forms of expression are considered to be insulting to a public figure is not sufficient to justify the imposition of penalties… all public figures, including those exercising the highest political authority such as heads of state and government, are legitimately subject to criticism and political opposition.”
The United Nations Special Rapporteur on freedom of opinion and expression has also reiterated that justifying any limitation on the freedom of expression on the basis of protecting other rights or reputation of others must not be used to protect the State and its officials from public opinion or criticism.
Other international human rights bodies and an increasing number of governments agree that criminal defamation laws must be abolished.
Criminal penalties are a disproportionate means to protect against reputational harm and pose an impermissibly severe impediment to the exercise of free expression.
The Myanmar government should act to ensure that electoral debates can take place in a constructive and respectful space, and that all people and organizations engaged in the protection and promotion of human rights are able to continue their work safely.
If not, then what Sean Turnell, an expert on Myanmar’s economy reportedly said about the Myanmar government eventually increasing its monitoring of cell networks will almost certainly prove true: Technology’s ability to democratize Myanmar has been “overrated.”
